“Your Honor,” says Sims. “Reserving the right to call rebuttal witnesses, the plaintiff rests.”

Judge Franklin looks at her watch. “This phase of the trial has taken much less time than I anticipated. Let’s take a ten-minute break, and then Mr. Cage will present his defense.”

As the jurors file out, I turn and look for Caitlin. She’s sitting with my parents. She slides along the bench, then comes up to the bar behind my table. I can tell by her face that she doesn’t have good news.

“No word from Stone?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry. You’d better drag out the testimony of every witness you have.”

“I hate to do that. Juries always sense it.”

“I don’t think you have a choice.”

What a comfort. The ten-minute recess lasts about two minutes, and then I’m on my feet again, doing what I have done countless times in my life: presenting a murder case. I do not stall for time. I do not equivocate. I present it just as I’d planned.

My witnesses come and go like commentators in a documentary. Frank Jones admits he lied about being alone in the Triton parking lot; his ex-wife describes finding the soiled stockings in their car; Betty Lou tearfully places Ray Presley at the crime scene (earning points with the jury for testifying against her own interest), then describes Presley’s subsequent threats and brutal harassment; Huey Moak’s expert testimony establishes that Payton’s car was destroyed by C-4, proving the evidence “discovered” by Presley was planted; and Lester Hinson testifies that he sold C-4 to Ray Presley in April 1968. All this testimony runs like a Swiss watch.

And therein lies the problem.

Neither Blake Sims nor Livy rise once to cross-examine my witnesses. They don’t even challenge Huey Moak’s credentials. Every time I tender a witness, Sims waves his hand from the table and says, “No questions, Your Honor.” Their strategy is simple. They’ll happily let me prove Ray Presley guilty of murder. And they will probably let me draw connections between Presley and Ike Ransom, if I can. As long as I can’t link Presley or Ransom to Leo Marston, I am fulfilling the scenario painted in Sims’s opening statement. The Payton murder was a race crime, committed by a racist. In his closing argument Sims will probably laud my efforts to find justice in this terrible tragedy. But to suggest any nefarious link between such men and Leo Marston must indicate some secret malice toward Marston on my part.